<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>When I'm With You by Charliem2107</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27329668">When I'm With You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charliem2107/pseuds/Charliem2107'>Charliem2107</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Awkward Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne Visits Smallville, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Conner kent is clark's brother, F/M, Female Clark Kent, Fluff, Some Swearing, but not too much, cos we need some happiness, slight angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:01:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,331</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27329668</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charliem2107/pseuds/Charliem2107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Frustrated with life in Gotham, and forced by Alfred, Bruce Wayne travels around America. One day he finds himself in a Midwestern town called Smallville. Finding himself enjoying the slow life, Bruce decides to stay and help on the Kent Farm for a while. it also helps that there is a certain farm girl that has caught his interest.</p>
<p>What starts as a summer of love could change into something else. But will Bruce and Clarke get their happy ending?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>117</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, this is my first fic, which I'm slightly nervous about. I'm a little bit obsessed with Bruce/Clark and gender changes so I though that might be a good place to start and to stretch my legs as a hopeful future writer.</p>
<p>Sadly, I don't own any of the characters, but the story is my own idea. </p>
<p>I thought 10 chapters was a good place to start and I hope to update weekly, but we'll see how it goes as I write.</p>
<p>Constructive criticism (and also praise) is welcomed. I'd love to hear what you think so I can improve this and other stories in the future.</p>
<p>This first chapter is a bit of background for the story to come.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There comes a point in most people’s lives where they question the decisions they’ve made. For Bruce, that moment was now.</p>
<p>For the last three hours, the 22-year-old CEO has been tiredly dragging his feet along a dusty country road as the sun slowly ebbed below the horizon. ‘Why?’ Bruce thought. Why was he walking through the middle of nowhere, to nowhere in particular, as the mid-June heat faded and the surrounding cornfields bristled in the cool night-time breeze?</p>
<p>Oh right - Alfred.</p>
<p>Turning 21 last year, Bruce suddenly found himself of age to assume control of his parents’ company. Although this crept up on him slightly, the young billionaire found himself determined. Bruce had so many ideas and so many things he wanted to do to improve Gotham now he had Wayne Enterprise’s vast resources. Over the next five years - ambitious, he knows - Bruce hoped to increase police numbers, upgrade the prehistoric computer systems in schools and use Wayne Medical to introduce free and mobile health clinics into The Narrows. Gotham was his home and its prince had to help her.</p>
<p>But he couldn’t do that from the middle of fucking nowhere!</p>
<p>Not that he’d be able to do much there anyway. Apparently assuming control of your own company proved nothing to your board members, most of whom still looked at Bruce like he was still the shy 8-year-old boy visiting his father’s office. So few of those stuffed shirts believed in him. And those that ‘did’ looked smug as they humoured his impassioned pitches, only to turn on him in the next glance. Bruce hated them the most.</p>
<p>Only one looked at him like the intelligent adult he was - because, dammit, he didn’t study at Cambridge for nothing. Lucius Fox had watched Bruce grow from quiet adolescent to strong teenager as he taught him about his future company and saw him become back from England with an Economics degree and a diploma in Psychology (because, why not?). Bruce could count on him.</p>
<p>Which was why Bruce felt a pang of betrayal as his most trusted advisor sided with Alfred. Since coming into his money, the Wayne heir had to routinely contend with young, vapid heiresses, and their mothers, launching themselves at him. Usually he didn’t mind this, watching the shameless women - and occasionally men - squabble over him. It provided light entertainment at some of the more sedate (boring) society functions.</p>
<p>That was until a few months ago. Until Silver. Bruce had been absolutely enamoured. Her thin, tanned figure and refreshing intelligence hypnotising him from the moment they met. Unlike any other person he had engaged with at the galas, Silver shied away from empty chatter and engaged in politics and economic conversation. She flat-out refused to talk about the weather; for which, Bruce was thankful. It was always the same three words anyway - dark, gloomy and damp. </p>
<p>She was beautiful and warmed Bruce’s closely guarded heart immediately. His favourite thing about her was that her almost white hair glinted like Harvey’s lucky silver dollar and shined just like her name. Bruce Wayne was in love.</p>
<p>Well ... he was. He was in love until he caught Silver with her hand in Martha Wayne’s jewellery box, pilfering the string of pearls that were laid inside.</p>
<p>To a young bachelor, it shouldn’t matter when a necklace of 25-year-old pearls went missing. He wouldn’t wear them anyway. Bruce only wore the gold signet ring on his right hand, gifted to him by Alfred. It was embossed with the Wayne coat of arms. And Bruce no longer wore his single earring since coming home from university, after his trusty butler gave him a disapproving nose crinkle and eyebrow furrow upon his return. But these weren’t just any pearls, not even the nice one. They were the ones his mother wore everyday since Thomas had gifted them to her at a local fair. They were cheap and plastic, won at a ring toss, and Bruce’s most prized possession.</p>
<p>He ended things with Silver immediately and found himself falling into a bottle to fill the emptiness he hadn’t felt since he was a child. Disillusioned and feeling a bit too small, Bruce began to fall back into his darkest days.</p>
<p>Before he grew impatient, and Bruce moved onto the wine cellar after relieving the liquour cabinet of its rum, Alfred told his surrogate son to go. Before Bruce began sputtering, the butler clarified:</p>
<p>“You need to get out. Get away from Gotham. Go on those travels around Asia you always dreamed about.” Alfred let out a long suffering sigh. “At the very least, go beyond the city limits.”</p>
<p>“What’s the point?” Bruce mumble, going to swig at the bottle clutched in his hand. </p>
<p>Alfred snatched the bottle, “To meet some normal people - ones without silver spoons.”</p>
<p>Bruce gave Alfred a look to say ‘aren’t I one of those?’</p>
<p>Knowing his charge’s thoughts, Alfred said, “I hope I raised you better.”</p>
<p>“What’s the point?” Bruce repeated.</p>
<p>“Get away from those vultures and be yourself for a change. You won’t have anything to prove to strangers. They will look at you like the brilliant young man you are. Not as money and not as an inexperienced youth.”</p>
<p>“I’ll think about it,” Bruce surrendered quietly, but without the cloud of drink.</p>
<p>And Bruce did think about it.</p>
<p>Three weeks later Bruce left for a journey around America. He had packed a couple of changes of clothes, a worn book and two photos - one: him and his parents, the other: him and Alfred. But if you asked, he wasn’t sentimental. He left his credit cards at the manor because “that’s what real back-packers do, Alfred!” Bruce may have read too much fiction as a child. Alfred made sure he had enough cash though.</p>
<p>Bruce walked out of the manor grounds to see what was outside his world.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Interlude - Bruce stumbles onto the Kent Farm.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Right, I just couldn't wait to post something any longer and since this chapter is more like an interlude it should be able to tide you guys over for a couple days until number 3.</p><p>I am going to apologise now if any of the characters, especially the Kents, come across a bit stereotypical at any point in the story, but stereotype is all I have. But, Jonathan and Martha are great anyway.</p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bruce was certain he was in America’s Midwest, and pretty sure he was in Kansas. He hadn’t seen any signs saying: ‘You are now leaving Kansas’ with Dorothy waving him out. But what did he care? He was tired, hungry and his skin burned. That must have been the sun burn. The headache throbbing behind his eyes was most likely a result of sun stroke. So far, Bruce hated travelling. He ached and was sore. What was the point in all that time in the gym if he couldn’t survive a walk without luxuries like food or sun cream?</p><p>‘Get it together, Wayne!’ The self-destructive part of Bruce’s mind told him.</p><p>The treacherous part wished for a bed and cool sheets.</p><p>Bruce started to give up hope of leaving Kansas anytime soon and went to acquiesce into a semi-conscious trudge.</p><p>That was until he saw the yellow glow of a lightbulb stream from a downstairs window.</p><p>A farmhouse! Yes!</p><p>Bruce’s speed increased slightly to reach his new destination as fast as his aching muscles would carry him.</p><p>About 200 yards down the lane was a small farmhouse surrounded by cornfields. It was adjacent to a big, wooden barn. Bruce would bet every penny he has that the barn was red - or copper-coloured at the very least.</p><p>He walked up the dusty drive, through the a white picket fence, past a rust-coloured pick up truck.  But, that’s what Bruce assumed. The light from the farmhouse didn’t reach that far. The rusty pick-up could have been a dark sedan for all he knew.</p><p>Upon reaching the house, Bruce climbed the single step to the porch and rapped the outer door.</p><p>After a minute the two front doors opened revealing an older man. His hair was greying and wire-rimmed glasses perched on his crooked nose. He reminded Bruce of Alfred; if Alfred wore checked shirts and old jeans, not starched collars and waistcoats.</p><p>Bruce hoisted his backpack higher up his shoulder by a single strap, flashed his best smile and slanted his eyes in a friendly manner.</p><p>“Hi,” he started. But before he could finish, Bruce thought: ‘Fuck it! I’m too tired. This can be tomorrow’s problem.’</p><p>His eyes promptly rolled back into his head and Bruce fell backwards, off the porch and into the dust.</p><p>“Martha,” the man called, “could you come give me a hand?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bruce and Clarke's first meeting.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was originally two chapters, but I wanted to get a move on.</p><p>And this is exactly how I think Bruce with be without having the training to be a super-ninja.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bruce felt comfortable and well-rested for the first time in a couple of days. His head pillowed on something soft - a pillow (‘Well done, genius,’ Bruce’s subconscious provided). Despite his comfort, Bruce’s leg began to cramp as he laid on something too small for him.</p><p>Bruce started to wake up, blinking the remnants of sleep away. On opening his eyes, Bruce found he was being stared at by a pair of blue, inches away from his face. Surprised, Bruce yelped, rolled away and promptly hit the hard wood floor with his forehead and his left knee against the dark coffee table that matched one of the two end tables.</p><p>“Ma! He’s awake,” a young, boyish voiced hollered.</p><p>Bruce groaned, sitting up and massaging his brow and knee. Still on the floor, he lent back against the sofa - that was lifted straight from the 90s - and took in his surroundings. From what he could see the house was small, quaint, homely and absolutely fantastic. It was everything Alfred tried to make the manor, in spite of its size and most rooms feeling cold. This farmhouse was warm like his father’s study, Alfred’s kitchen and the small living room the two shared. </p><p>Bruce was roused from his musings by the faint rustle of slippers on floorboards. He turned to look in the direction of the sound. Stood to his right was a short, warm-featured woman with inviting eyes. She smiled softly.</p><p>“That’s a nasty bump you got there.” A delicate Mid-Western cadence. “Come on. I’ll patch you up.” She turned. Bruce followed.</p><p>The middle-aged woman led Bruce to the kitchen, clearly at the front of the house. She pulled out a wooden dining chair from under the table and indicated for him to sit. He did as she bustled around the kitchen, presumably looking for ice and a rag.</p><p>When she found it she handed him the bundle and he pressed it to his head. He sighed as the damp balm soothed his slightly burning skin as well as the ache. The two kept comfortable silence for a moment as his pain dissipated.  </p><p>“Sorry, we left you the couch last night, but Jonathan and I wouldn’t have been able to get you up those stairs. It can’t have been comfortable.”</p><p>“It was fine. Thank you, Mrs - ?” He questioned.</p><p>“Kent,” she answered, “We’re glad we could help. You gave us quite a fright last night.”</p><p>“I apologise.”</p><p>“Oh, no need, dear. But I will feel better if I can fix you up. Coffee? Breakfast? Mr ... um?”</p><p>“Bruce is fine, and yes, please.”</p><p>She flashed him a warm smile that was as dazzling as it was motherly. “In that case. You can call me Martha.”</p><p>Bruce smiled tightly. Martha busied herself with frying eggs and bacon.</p><p>-	-	-</p><p>When Clarke got back to Smallville from Metropolis University late yesterday afternoon, she collapsed from student exhaustion, facepalming soft bed sheets. As her face hit the sheets she was out like a light.</p><p>She roused from her slumber early the next morning along with the sun rise. She would never not be able to wake up like that. Always the daughter of farmers, despite bone-deep exhaustion from juggling an endless semester and a Daily Planet work placement.</p><p>But Clarke would forget about that for the next few months. Her job now was to help her parents care for the family farm. And how she had missed it.</p><p>She got out of bed, pulled on yesterday’s jeans and her Metropolis U crew-neck sweatshirt. She then went to find her father to help with the pre-breakfast chores.</p><p>Clarke made her way downstairs, calling for her mother. “Hey, Ma! Where’s -“ She stopped when she turned from the base of the stairs to see a strange figure curled on a sofa half his size.</p><p>Martha appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel. “What did you say, dear?”</p><p>The question remained unanswered for a few moments as Clarke stared at the sleeping stranger.</p><p>“Huh?” She managed to reply.</p><p>Martha smiled fondly, “What were you saying when you came down the stairs?”</p><p>“Oh! Where’s Pa?”</p><p>“He’s our front. The truck’s coughing up a storm again.”</p><p>“I’m gonna go help.”</p><p>“Okay, honey. I’ll have a cup of coffee waiting for you.”</p><p>“Ma?” Martha looked back at Clarke as the two women made their way from the living room to the kitchen. “Who’s that?” She gestured with her head toward the man.</p><p>“Don’t know. He just collapsed on the porch late last night.”</p><p>And like that explained everything, Clarke smiled and went through the front doors to help her Pa with the truck.</p><p>-	-	-</p><p>After being scared awake and formally introducing himself to Mrs Kent, Bruce sat at the kitchen table wolfing down a fried breakfast. When he finished he sat back in his chair and breathed deeply. But before he could register any movement, Martha had taken his plate and refilled it with bacon and scrambled eggs. Bruce launched back into feasting as she turned away. She chuckled to herself about his enthusiasm.</p><p>-	-	-</p><p>Clarke and her father walked back up to the house after another unsuccessful attempt at fixing the truck; lured by the beautiful smell of bacon, eggs, and buttery toast.</p><p>Approaching the front door, Clarke wrestled with a stray stand of her raven, shoulder-length hair that fell in front of her tortoise-shell glasses. She gently pushed open the door, knowing her mother still hadn’t forgiven her for the dent in the wall, from bursting into the kitchen at 8-years-old. But she froze mid-step, locking her gaze on the now not-sleeping stranger eating breakfast at the kitchen table. Used to his daughter’s inability to act like a normal person among others, Jonathan side-stepped around her and entered the kitchen.</p><p>“Nice to see you awake,” he said as he sat at the head of the table. </p><p>Bruce looked up from his half finished breakfast, swallowed and composed himself. “Um, thank you Mr Kent. Last night couldn’t have been the easiest. I appreciate you taking care of me.”</p><p>“It’s the least we could do, son. You looked like you needed help and we have plenty of help to give. Thank you, Martha.” He explained as she set his breakfast in front of him.</p><p>“Clarke, why don’t you have something to eat?” Martha said, bringing Clarke out of her daze.</p><p>She did sit, still staring at the stranger. Bruce eyed her back, only then realising his mistake.</p><p>“Oh, forgive me. My name’s Bruce. Pleasure.” He extended a hand to Jonathan and smiled at Clarke - the smile used to appease approaching socialites or coax support from reluctant board members. But, it seemed to have little affect on her.</p><p>“So what brings you to Smallville, Bruce?” </p><p>“That’s where I am? Seriously?” Bruce asked Jonathan disbelieving.</p><p>“You didn’t know?” Clarke asked incredulously, and a bit like Bruce was stupid. He turned to her. It was the first time she had spoken to him. He noticed the lack of an accent like her parents'.</p><p>“I knew I was in Kansas.”</p><p>“Well, I guess that’s something.”</p><p>Bruce smiled at her response. Her tone showed she didn’t look at him with dollar signs or pity in her eyes, but with mirth and disbelief at his accidental stupidity. It was refreshing. Bruce liked it.</p><p>Bruce addressed the room, “I’m travelling.”</p><p>“Any reason why?” Martha asked politely.</p><p>“To meet new people. Have new experiences outside of work,” Bruce shrugged.</p><p>“What do you do?”</p><p>Then it occurred to Bruce, he didn’t have to tell them. He didn’t have to be the young CEO. They wouldn’t know who he was, not this far from Gotham. He could be anyone. But what he wanted to be was Bruce Wayne. The real Bruce. Not Brucie - with fast cars, white teeth and high cheekbones. He wanted to be the Bruce that’s the spotty dork who collects Grey Ghost memorabilia; the hidden rebel that skids around Wayne Manor in his socks listening to The Clash; the idiot that pierced his own ear with a sewing needle after drunk him found that a knitting needle wasn’t sharp enough. To Bruce, that sounded like freedom. To Bruce, that was the best thing in the world.</p><p>“I work in management.” Not a lie, technically. “You go to Met U?”</p><p>Clarke turned at his question. “Yeah. I study journalism.”</p><p>Bruce tensed slightly. She couldn’t be like Vicki. In the few words she said to Bruce, he noticed Clarke walked with an air of sweetness but her words took no prisoners. She wasn’t hardened by Gotham’s streets but could clearly hold her own. She stood tall, taller than both her parents. Slim but strong. Strength from honest farm work rather than necessity, with a keen wit to match. Bruce found himself intrigued and couldn’t wait to find out more.</p><p>“Right,” Jonathan stood from his chair. “I’m going to take another look at that truck.”</p><p>“Jon, why don’t we just call the mechanic out?”</p><p>“Because, we don’t need to, Martha. I’ll get her workin’ again.”</p><p>“You’re a stubborn man, Mr Kent.” The two smiled at each other.</p><p>“What’s the matter with it?” Bruce asked, dragging his attention away from staring at Clarke.</p><p>“Damn thing won’t start, is all.”</p><p>“Maybe I could take a look at it.”</p><p>-	-	-</p><p>Bruce smiled triumphantly as the red pick-up roared into life when Clarke turned the ignition.</p><p>“How did you do that?” She asked, coming to join him at the front of the truck as he lowered the bonnet.</p><p>Wiping his hands on a rag he explained, “My, uh, guardian used to be a mechanic in the military. He let me help when he needed to fix the cars. He taught me how to change a tire, fix the electrics and how to completely strip an engine. Surprised?”</p><p>“You, just, didn’t seem the type.”</p><p>“I didn’t take you for the judgemental sort.” He leaned on the hood.</p><p>“Now, look who’s judging,” Clarke muttered. Bruce smiled comfortably while she hid a slightly amused quirk of her lips.</p><p>Bruce rose and whispered into Clarke’s ear, “I think you’ll find, I’m full of surprises.” He then headed towards the front door to inform Mr Kent that his truck was now running. Clarke stood still trying to conceal a blush that she thought Bruce couldn’t see.</p><p>Bruce found himself wanting to have that conversation again. He loved how easily it came, how natural it felt. He didn’t have to pretend to be anything. He could be as cocky or as dorky as he wanted. He just wanted to feel like he felt during that conversation again - like himself. </p><p>He also wanted to make Clark blush again. </p><p>It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. It was sweet, innocent and so alluring. For all Silver’s shining hair made his eyes seem brighter, Clarke’s poorly hidden blush took his breath away and made Silver pale in comparison.</p><p>Bruce found he didn’t dislike travelling that much anymore. Not if he could stay in Smallville a little bit longer and be himself around someone who made him want to be that.</p><p>Bruce thought he should listen to Alfred more often, it seemed the butler had some very good ideas.</p><p>-	-	-</p><p>When her Pa’s truck started without hesitation, Clarke thought that Bruce might not be the irritating, average city-boy that Clark has had to deal with. She had had a few run-ins with ignorant city-dwellers over the last few years in Metropolis, and Bruce didn’t seem like any of them. </p><p>He seemed kind, generous and almost gentle. She though ‘almost’ because there was no way Bruce could have arms that size without being a little tough. It wasn’t like she was consciously look at his big, muscular arms, but they were hard to miss in the tight Henley that he sported.</p><p>Clarke blissfully thought that he was the complete opposite of Lex for all those reasons. The thought of that man made her smile turn into a shudder as she pictured Lex’s slimy gaze instead of Bruce’s deft fingers. That was another thing - it looked like Bruce was good with his hands.</p><p>Clarke had met Lex when she had been new and naive to Metropolis. They met on Campus, though he wasn’t a student but a guest speaker, despite being only a few years older than her. Since she was a little bit lost on her first day he offered to show her around the city. </p><p>The two seemed to bounce off each other instantly and quickly became friends. Although, now Clarke wouldn’t be able to say why. She shivered as she thought about how Lex tried to worm his way into dating her, before being warned off by Lois very quickly. Lois and Clark quickly became friends and she was Clarke’s go to for all her problems. </p><p>Lois was the one to inform Clarke of Lex’s untrustworthiness and his poor attitude towards anyone that wasn’t him. He was good at putting up a front, becoming charming and suave at the drop of a hat when needed.</p><p>Bruce was already charming and suave, if a little dorky and cute. She smiled again as she thought about seeing him asleep on the sofa and looking like a hamster as he stuffed his face full of Ma’s cooking before greeting her and her father.</p><p>Clarke found that she didn’t utterly dislike Bruce, despite him getting the truck started instead of her. She began to think she might like him. Maybe she could get him to stay a little bit longer. </p><p>-	-	-</p><p>“How did you get on?” Jonathan asked when Bruce walked through the door.</p><p>“Good. Your truck’s up and running, but you should still get it looked at just in case.”</p><p>“Well, thank you son.”</p><p>“Let me get you something. A thank you,” said Martha.</p><p>“No need, Mrs Kent. Really.” As Bruce said this he was being pushed into the living room by his host and being sat down on the couch he had slept on.</p><p>She was gone and back in a second with a plate of cookies and a mug of coffee. It was like a magic trick. One moment he was in the kitchen the next he was in the living room with a plate of cookies on his lap. He admired Mrs Kent’s skill, he thought Alfred was the only one able to pull that trick on him. Turns out he was wrong - wasn’t that humbling.</p><p>He was about to tuck into his reward when heard a small snicker from behind him. He turned around to find Clarke leaning in the entry way. He raised an eyebrow in question.</p><p>“I was wondering how long it would take before she would trap you with cookies.”</p><p>“Seems your mother knows my weakness.” They shared a smile before Clarke joined him on the sofa.</p><p>“Cookies? Really?”</p><p>“Of course. They used to be a reward when I was a kid. If I was good, when I got home from school, Alfred always had a batch of fresh cookies waiting. Those are some of my favourite memories.” Bruce smiled wistfully.</p><p>“Alfred?”</p><p>“My … guardian.”</p><p>“The mechanic?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Bruce paused thoughtfully, “I don’t know why I told you that. I don’t - typically.”</p><p>“I guess I have one of those faces.”</p><p>“Useful.” Clarke looked at him questioningly. “For journalism, I mean.” </p><p>“I suppose. Are you going to eat those cookies or just stare at them?”</p><p>“You going to help?”</p><p>“You’re kidding? I never miss a chance to have Ma’s cookies.”</p><p>Unbeknownst to them, Jonathan and Martha sat in the kitchen smiling to each, concocting several plans to hopefully keep their daughter and the first person to put a smile in her voice since the problems with Lex together.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bruce meets Pete and Lana and gets some important information out of Conner.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been about a week since Bruce collapsed on the Kent’s porch. In that time he had been upgraded from sleeping on the couch. Conner gave up his room and excitedly moved his bed spread into the barn loft. Conner had informed Bruce that the loft was so much better than any bedroom. It was filled with posters, games and bean bags. Jonathan has also hooked up a record player and speakers. But, Bruce’s eyes were caught by the small bookcase leant against the far wall. He headed over, finding the shelves stacked full of comic books and novels. He picked one up - The Gray Ghost, issue one.</p><p>“This yours?” He asked Conner who was still trying to give him a tour of the barn’s upper level.</p><p>“No, they’re my sister’s. She likes nerd stuff like that, but soccer’s way cooler if you ask me.”</p><p>Bruce slid the book back on to the shelf and chuckled at Conner’s childishness. He decided to wait for another time to inform the 12-year-old that people who like soccer can also like books.</p><p>-	-	-</p><p>If Clark didn’t know any better, she’d think her parents were trying to keep Bruce on the farm. They were always trying to find jobs for him to do. She didn’t mind; nor did he, it seemed. An extra pair of hands around the farm was always helpful. </p><p>Bruce always woke at the same time as the Kent’s and always helped Ma Kent with the dishes after breakfast. Unknown to Clarke, Bruce didn’t do this to be helpful - he did, but that wasn’t the whole reason. Bruce liked washing dishes, he found the repetition and the care needed to be taken with porcelain plates therapeutic. Alfred had suggested for him to do this when he was younger, when his mind raced and his head was full of anxious thoughts - like those unwanted thoughts many people get when trying to fall asleep. Bruce still did this now, but it had become a ritual. If he could wash the dishes in the morning, he would be fine and could get through the day. Sometimes it didn’t work, but most of the time, especially amongst the calm of the Kent Farm, it did.</p><p>Bruce would then proceed to help Clarke and her father tend to the vast fields of crops and animals. Taking to it with all the grace and poise of a a seasoned rancher. Well, on the second try - the first didn’t go so well. But Conner did warn Bruce that that cow didn’t like being led. Bruce quickly learned that she would make her way to the barn to be milked in her own time.</p><p>He would then help Clarke at the market, selling their wares and collecting the groceries on Martha’s list.</p><p>They quickly fell into a rhythm, elegantly moving with and around each other. Each day became a dance and Bruce and Clarke were pros.</p><p>At least until Clarke saw something that made her a tiny bit light headed.</p><p>-	-	-</p><p>It was a scorching early-July day and Bruce was helping Jonathan and Clarke in the fields. The three worked in companionable silence. But, Bruce began to grow uncomfortable. His sweat-soaked shirt began to cling to his torso and his ebony hair frizzed against his forehead. He couldn’t stand it anymore, unaccustomed to this kind of heat. So he pulled the red and white checked shirt (borrowed from Jonathan) over his head and ruffled his hair when it stood on end.</p><p>It was at this point Clarke chose to look up. Shifting her eyes from her work to Bruce, she gulped. Each muscle in his back rippled with his movements. His biceps became bigger when they tensed with his work. The delicate sheen of sweat coating his upper body highlighted his mild tan and made the scar on his right shoulder glint in the sun.</p><p>“Jesus Christ,” she breathed.</p><p>Bruce then turned, looking over the field behind them. Clarke turned away, blushing profusely but continued tending the crops. He didn’t seem to notice her reddening cheeks, wide eyes or slightly heavier breathing - and Clarke would be eternally grateful for that. She tried to carry on with the morning’s work, not looking up at Bruce - not too often. </p><p>The rest of the morning passed without further embarrassment and Clarke, Bruce and Jonathan returned to the farmhouse.  Bruce’s shirt firmly placed on his back (‘Thank the heavens,’ Clarke thought). Really, Bruce had no right - looking like that, while  being kind and generous. He was also intelligent and, though he tried to hide it, a huge dork. Clarke has quite often caught him reading her old sci-fi novels while laying upside down on a bean-bag in the barn loft. ‘That’s when he looks his best,’ she idly thought, ‘not when he’s big, bold and strong, but when he’s content to lose himself in another world and unafraid to look smaller.’</p><p>-	-	-</p><p>It was after lunch and Bruce was helping to clear away the place settings, when Martha suggested, “Clarke, why don’t you take Bruce into town and show him around. He hasn’t really seen much of Smallville since he’s been here.”</p><p>“Sure, Ma.”</p><p>“And take Conner with you,” added Jonathan.</p><p>“Pa?”</p><p>“Take him with you. Conner’s itching to get out the house and I’ve given him a list.”</p><p>“But -“</p><p>“You’ll need to go to the hardware store. I’m sure find everything.”</p><p>“Ugh! Fine,” Clarke huffed following it with a mumbled, “I’m gonna go change.” She got up from the dining table and stomped up stairs.</p><p>Bruce snorted in amusement, smiling with fondness behind Clarke’s disappearing form. </p><p>“I’ll go get Conner,” Bruce said.</p><p>-	-	-</p><p>As planned Clarke, Conner and Bruce went to the hardware store to pick up some screws, a new shovel and some 2 x 4 planks of pine wood - there was a hole in one of the pen fences that needed patching up. After putting these items in the bed of the truck, Clarke and Conner showed Bruce around Smallville. They took him to the local book shop and and window-shopped outside the old antique store. Conner then insisted they take him to see the The Haystack, all the while trying to convince Bruce - who believed no such thing - that it was the biggest haystack in the world. To round up the tour of Smallville they finished in the small 1950s-themed diner.</p><p>The diner was small, almost quaint. It had red and white booth seats around chrome tables, with mint trim wrapping the counter that was surrounded by bar stools. The three sat in a window-side booth at the back of the diner and were handed menus by a waitress wearing a turquoise retro uniform with a white apron tied around her waist. Conner ordered a giant strawberry milkshake, Clarke a Diet Coke and Bruce a black coffee. They each ordered a double cheeseburger with fries.</p><p>“I thought you had a sweet tooth,” Clarke asked Bruce.</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“Then why order a black coffee.”</p><p>The waitress brought over their drinks. “So, I can do this.” Bruce then proceeded to pour copious amounts of sugar and milk into his large mug of coffee. He stirred it, then lifted it to his lips, swigged and wiggled his dark eyebrows at Clarke.</p><p>“How many push-ups are you going to do later?” Clarke teased. He laughed.</p><p>“Too many.” The two smiled somewhat shyly each other. Conner repeatedly looked between the two, and smiled knowingly. He was very perceptive for a 12-year-old. Clarke, Jonathan and Martha would sometimes say too perceptive.</p><p>Their cheeseburgers came soon after and they tucked in, enjoying pleasant, meaningless conversation about favourite films, tv shows and music; what Conner’s favourite subject was at school and; a minor argument about whether they were called biscuits or cookies. Conner and Clarke insisted the latter, forcing Bruce to explain to them that cookies were soft with chocolate chips, typically, while biscuits were harder and sometimes crumbly. This was something that Alfred made sure Bruce knew that difference.</p><p>“Clarke Kent what are you doing here?” A strange voice called out from across the diner.</p><p>The three turned to the voice and Bruce witnessed Clarke’s face light up. She jumped from her seat and ran to the man and woman that had entered the diner.</p><p>Bruce turned to Conner, “Who are they?”</p><p>“Pete! Lana!” Clarke called as she flung her arms around them.</p><p>“We haven’t seen you in ages.”</p><p>“Ahem,” Conner coughed and Bruce suppressed his smile at that.      </p><p>“Hey, squirt,” greeted Pete.</p><p>“Hiya, Kon,” smiled Lana. She turned to her right expectantly, “Clarke?”                </p><p>“Hm? Oh right! Pete. Lana. This is Bruce.” </p><p>He shook hands with the two, “Nice to meet you.” They slid into the booth.</p><p>“So? How do you guys know each other?”</p><p>“Pete,” Lana warned</p><p>“Just a question.”</p><p>“He’s helping out on the farm,” Conner piped up.</p><p>“Mr Kent is actually letting you near his fields.”</p><p>“Looks like,” Bruce said while putting a fry into his mouth.</p><p>“But he never asks for help. I offer pretty much every year but he always turns me away,” Pete lamented in disbelief.</p><p>“Oh my gosh!” Another new voice. Did this diner have a revolving door? “Bruce!”</p><p>He looked up. They all did to see a slender young woman of average height with long ebony hair, full red lips and light, baby-blue eyes. She wore dark jeans with holes in the knees, stylish ankle boots and a matching leather biker-jacket with her name stitched in the back in red lettering.</p><p>“Zee?” He got up from the booth and embraced his closest childhood friend. “What are you doing here?” He whispered into her ear.</p><p>“Can’t a girl come visit her best friend?”</p><p>“Alfred sent you, didn’t he?”</p><p>“You haven’t called since you entered Kansas,” she pulled back from the hug, “And I have a show in Wichita. So …”</p><p>“It good to see you too.” He turned to the table, “Clarke, Pete, Lana, Conner. This is Zatanna. Zatanna, everyone.”</p><p>“Zatanna. As in Zatanna Zatara? As in the magician?” Asked Lana.</p><p>“The one and only.”</p><p>Conner whispered in awe, “Cool.” </p><p>Bruce then led Zatanna over to the counter to get her a coffee. Once they were out of earshot and had ordered she turned to him, talking with a smile playing on her lips, “Kansas, huh?”</p><p>“Yeah. And?”</p><p>“Not everyday you find Bruce Wayne sleeping on a farm.”</p><p>“This year has been full of unexpected things.”</p><p>“I hate to say I told you so.”</p><p>“I know you trusted Silver about - “</p><p>“As far as I could throw her. I’m just glad you found out I was right.” There was a pause. “You look happy. Genuinely happy.”</p><p>“I feel happy. Like myself.” They shared small smiles.</p><p>“I miss that huge goober. As much as that rich asshole act amuses me, I missed my best friend.” She nudged his shoulder, “Glad you’re back.”</p><p>“Me too.”     </p><p>“So, who’s the girl?”</p><p>“Shut up,” he said without any venom.</p><p>“Bruce.”</p><p>“Clarke is the daughter of the man whose farm I’m helping out on. She’s just graduated as a journalism student at Met U,” and now that he started talking, Bruce couldn’t stop, “She’s smart, funny, kind. She’s beautiful, innocent and cute all at the same time. She’s - What?”</p><p>“You. Are. Smitten,” Zatanna teased.</p><p>“No, I’m not,” he protested.</p><p>“You are. Wayne, you have a crush on a farmer’s daughter.” He reddened very quickly. “It looks good on you.” He smiled timidly. “And by the way she’s been looking at you all the time we’ve been talking, I’m guessing she feels the same way.”</p><p>“She sees me, Zee.”</p><p>“That’s all I could ask for. You deserve that, Bruce. Now, I’m gonna go before the green-eyed monster rears its ugly head. I can’t tell if she’s trying to assess our relationship or planning a way to leap over that table,” she kissed him on the cheek and added, “might wanna move fast though. That Pete guy seems like he thinks he’s got competition.”</p><p>“I’ll bear that in mind. See you later.”</p><p>“Bye, B. I’ll tell Alfred you said ‘Hi’.”</p><p>As Zatanna left the diner, Bruce made his way back to the table.</p><p>“Where’d Zatanna go?” Conner asked as a way to distract himself from sniggering at Clarke’s slightly jealous gaze and Pete’s gently simmering ego.</p><p>“She’s got a show to prepare for.” He turned to Clarke’s two friends, “So, Pete, Lana, tell me about yourselves.” Bruce needed attention away from him and something to quicken the cooling of his burning cheeks.</p><p>-	-	-	</p><p>The five of them walked from the diner back to the Kents’ red pick-up. Clarke walked with Pete and Lana up front, animatedly talking about something Bruce couldn’t hope to understand. ‘Farm-talk’, he concluded. He walked behind them with his right arm draped across Conner’s shoulders. </p><p>“What’s with Clarke and Pete?” Bruce asked.      </p><p>“Nothing.”                                                          </p><p> “Nothing?”</p><p>“Well, not nothing. Pete’s been in love with Clarke for, like, forever. But he hasn’t done anything about, because he’s an idiot.”</p><p>“In your professional opinion?”</p><p>“Yeah. But she doesn’t like him like that anyway. And she’s got no idea that Pete’s got googily eyes. But it doesn’t matter anyway.”</p><p>“It doesn’t?” Bruce asked, a little surprise lacing his voice.</p><p>“No. Clarke’s got googily eyes for someone else.”</p><p>“And who’s that?”</p><p>“You,” Conner stated nonchalantly, stopping Bruce in his tracks.</p><p>Once Bruce had recovered from this revelation after a few moments, he caught up to Conner who had slipped from Bruce’s arms and carried on walking. “What?”</p><p>“You have them too. I think you should ask her out. It’d be like having a big brother. I always wanted a brother. We could play football. I never get to play football. I would play with Clarke, but she cheats.” Bruce listened while Conner rambled.</p><p>“Your Mom’s right. You are a pretty perceptive.”</p><p>“It’s my superpower. You should ask my sister out.”</p><p>“So if I were to, theoretically, I have your blessing?”</p><p>“Yeah. It’d be cool to have a brother.”</p><p>“That would be pretty cool.” Bruce smiled, hugging Conner closer.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don't know if anyone caught I but there's a tiny West Wing reference in there because I've recently started watching and become obsessed.</p><p>I also think Clarke's reaction to Bruce getting his kit off is perfectly reasonable and since Bruce doesn't have to be as emotionally constipated as Batman, he can be a little more forthcoming with those he trusts.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>First date</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m a sucker for stupid romantic moments in movies, so that’s where this came from. I’m also a firm believer in Bruce being partially out of character in these instances. I think he finds it’s easier to be suave and charming when playing a part but when shit matters he becomes his slightly shyer self. </p><p>And, Clark’s appearance is slightly based on me, as we both have an aversion to heels, I wear two pairs of silver studs in my ear and I have the same necklace irl (so I hope I described it well).</p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been exactly 3 days, 4 hours and 26 minutes since Bruce’s chat with Conner, and he had spent 3 days, 4 hours and 25 minutes planning. </p><p>Bruce sat on a plush blue bean bag, not reading the book in his hands and staring into space. He had spent the last 3 days thinking about what Conner had said and how he was going to act on it. He liked Clarke, and apparently she liked him too. He felt comfortable around her, and apart from not telling her his surname, he felt completely himself for the first time in a long time. Right - that was it. He was going to ask her out. But, how to do it? He couldn’t just go up and ask her, could he? No - he was sure he had to ask Jonathan first; he was living on his farm after all. No, he doesn’t have to do that, he wasn’t going to marry Clarke, he was just asking her -</p><p>“Not interrupting anything, am I?” A soft, gentle voice came from the other side of the room. Bruce blinked and looked up. A smile playing at his lips at the sight of wavy hair and glasses framed with a mix of light and dark brown.</p><p>“No.” They both fell silent, slightly awkwardly, as Bruce mustered some courage. “Clarke, um,” he stammered, “Do you, maybe want to -“</p><p>“Bruce, would you like to go out, sometime?” She blurted out.</p><p>Bruce breathed, relieved. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Yeah. Do you want to get a drink or something else, if you prefer?”</p><p>“I’d like that.”</p><p>-	-	-</p><p>First dates. What do you do on a first date? Bruce was at a loss. Since Clarke had no idea that he was Bruce Wayne, he actually had to charm her, not have her already charmed by his wealth and privilege. What did normal people do on dates? They didn’t just wave a chequebook. Flowers! They brought flowers. Bruce needed to find some flowers, so he went to someone who could help.</p><p>“What are Clarke’s favourite flowers?” He asked Ma Kent.</p><p>“Now, why would you want to know that?” She said knowingly. Martha knew exactly why Bruce wanted to know what Clarke’s favourite flower was. After her conversation with Bruce in the barn loft she had run straight to her mother to tell her the good news. Both women had been equally excited; Clarke because she was happy and Martha because her daughter was happy.</p><p>Bruce suddenly felt like a small boy trying to explain to Alfred why he had his hand in the cookie jar. Rubbing the back of his neck nervously, Bruce admitted “I have asked Clarke if she would like to get a drink with me. If that’s alright with you?”</p><p>Martha snickered fondly, “Of course that’s alright with me, dear. I’ve waited too long to see my daughter happy like that and I’m not going to stand in the way. To answer you question, she doesn’t like flowers. She says they make her nose sensitive.” Martha laced that final sentence with a splash of sarcasm.</p><p>“She lives on a farm,” Bruce retorted amusedly.</p><p>“Tell me about it. But, like you, she does have a bit of a sweet tooth. White chocolate’s her favourite.”</p><p>“Thank you”. With that Bruce left. He had a mission to complete.</p><p>-	-	-</p><p>Date night. </p><p>It might have been an understatement to say that Clarke was nervous. She started to will her hands to stop sweating for fear that it could, potentially, rub her nail polish off. Rationally, she knew that was unlikely to happen, but it didn’t stop that fear. </p><p>They were going to the local bar in the centre of Smallville so she decided to wear something that was ‘smart-casual’, at least that’s what Lois had called it. Clark wore a white dress with black polka-dots that came to rest 3 inches above her knees, with red canvas hit-tops and a denim jacket. She wore two sets of silver studs in her earlobes and a star and the letter ‘C’ encased in glass hanging on a silver chain around her neck.</p><p>Bruce, on the other hand, didn’t have many nice clothes with him. However, Alfred insisted he pack a neatly pressed shirt just in case. It finally came in handy. Bruce wore a white button-down shirt which he tucked into dark, black jeans fastened with a matching leather belt. Since he hadn’t packed any loafers, Bruce wore the low-top, white leather trainers he had been travelling in - which he spent the afternoon cleaning. His hair was carefully ruffled to fall to one side of his forehead stylishly.</p><p>Bruce anxiously paced in the kitchen as he waited for Clarke to come down the stairs. Martha, Jonathan and Conner stood at the counter preparing their own dinner.</p><p>“Nervous?” Jonathan inquired.</p><p>“Me? No,” Bruce said unconvincingly.</p><p>Jonathan left the kitchen counter and put his hands on Bruce’s shoulders to stop him from pacing, “Kid, you’ve got nothing to worry about. She’s just as ridiculous as you.” Bruce snorted, while Jonathan continued, “You have mine, Martha’s and, even, Conner’s blessing to take our little girl out. I trust you Bruce. You’ll be fine.”</p><p>Bruce couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty at that. The Kents shouldn’t trust him. Not really. He was sort of lying to them. But before Bruce could think himself deeper down that rabbit hole, he was broken out of his revery by Clarke clearing her throat in the doorway. Everyone turned and Bruce took a deep, steadying breath. He wet his dry lips, “These are for you.” He went to the kitchen table and picked up a bunch of roses. Roses that were moulded out of white chocolate. He handed them to her as a smile grew on her face. “Your Mom said you didn’t like flowers, but white chocolate was your favourite.”</p><p>“They’re nice. Ma, do think you could put these in some water?”</p><p>“Very funny.”</p><p>“I thought so.”</p><p>“You ready?” Clarke nodded and they left for the bar.</p><p>-	-	-</p><p>Bruce and Clarke sat at a small round table in the bar, surrounded by lively groups of friends, young and old. Two cool beers rested on coasters in front of them as they filled the night with idle chat.</p><p>“I have a question for you, and it’s been bugging me for a while,” Bruce started.</p><p>“Shoot,” she replied, lifting the beer to her red lips.</p><p>“Why don’t you have the accent?”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“When you talk you have a sort of generic east coast accent. You’re from Kansas. You should have an accent.”</p><p>“I sort of dropped it. I quickly found out, when trying to secure interviews, that people respond better to someone who doesn’t sound like a farmer,” she explained. </p><p>“You hide a part of yourself so everyone else will treat you like you deserve. I get that.” Bruce was relieved that Clark didn’t push that last statement. </p><p>During their conversation someone started the old whirligig jukebox into life. Blondie’s ‘Heart of Glass’ sang out of its speakers.</p><p>“I love this song. Come on.” Clarke bounced out of her seat, grabbing Bruce’s hand and leading him onto a makeshift dance floor where other couples and groups had began to form.</p><p>“No, Clarke, I can’t,” Bruce protested, “I have two left feet.”</p><p>“That’s alright. I have two right feet, we’ll fit together perfectly.”</p><p>“That was terrible.”</p><p>“Got you smiling though. And on the dance floor.” And much to Bruce’s chagrin, they were. So he assumed the position. It may not be the classic waltz Alfred had try to teach him when he was a teenager, but he knew basic steps that could be used for any piece of music. Clarke held Bruce’s left hand in her right and brought her left to rest against Bruce’s shoulder. He placed his free hand on her waist, cupping it delicately. They swayed to the music together.</p><p>“See, you can dance,” she said, simply in a hushed tone.</p><p>“I suppose I can.” The music changed imperceptibly from 80’s pop-rock to 50s jazz, with that Bruce smiled, lips-closed.</p><p>“What are you smiling about?”</p><p>“My mother used to sing me this song.”</p><p>“It’s nice.” They continued to sway as Bruce closed his eyes and sang quietly to the music. Unnoticed, Clarke’s hand slide from Bruce’s shoulder to the nape of his neck, where her fingers played with the small hairs that were curling with growth. Bruce opened his eyes and looked down to his partner. Blue crystals stared back at him with (and he couldn’t find a better word) adoration.</p><p>Both moved together as Bruce lowered his head and Clarke rose to her toes. For a moment they shared each others’ breath before Clarke closed the gap and claimed Bruce’s lips in a tender embrace.</p><p>It was, by no means, the hungriest kiss Bruce had shared, but it was the most intimate. They held each other sweetly as they continued to sway and both of Bruce’s hands came to wrest on Clarke’s waist, while hers locked behind his neck. They would never be able to say how long they spent locked to one and another, but they could tell you why they broke apart.</p><p>Pete came bounding over, “Hey, guys! How’s it going?”</p><p>“Hi Pete,” Clark said politely, despite raging internally. That was one of the better kisses she had had. It was intimate and quietly passionate. It wasn’t slimy like furious kisses against nightclub walls or her sloppy first kiss at 15, when neither her nor her partner had any idea what they were doing. This kiss with Bruce was just right - the Goldilocks of kisses. </p><p>“What are you doing here? Thought you’d be on the farm.”</p><p>“We’re out. Together.” Bruce stated.</p><p>“Hey, Pete, could you go and grab us a couple of drinks, please?”</p><p>“Sure. Be right back.”</p><p>“Bruce, come on.” Clarke held tightly to his hand and pulled him through the crowd toward the bar door. They made it outside, and Clarke linked their arms as Bruce slide his hand into his trouser pocket when the walked down the street.</p><p>“Ruthless,” Bruce laughed in his rich baritone.</p><p>“Do get me wrong, I love Pete. He’s one of my best friends. But, he has absolutely no boundaries.”</p><p>“I don’t think that’s the problem.”</p><p>“The jealous thing is a bit of an issue, as well.”</p><p>“So you know?”</p><p>“Of course I know. Pete’s had a crush on me since 6th grade and hasn’t done anything about it. I ended up going to prom with Lana because he never managed ask me.”</p><p>“He won’t ask you out, but can’t bare the thought of you with anyone else. That’s what that was about?”</p><p>“Exactly. It’s exhausting.”</p><p>“Conner’s a liar, then.” At Clarke’s quizzical gaze, he clarified, “He said you were completely oblivious to that sort of thing.”</p><p>“Not completely.”</p><p>They walked in companionable silence for most of the trip back to the farm, occasionally speaking of nonsense, but always enjoying each others’ presence.</p><p>-	-	-</p><p>“Can I ask you a question now?” Clarke asked as her and Bruce prepared coffee in the kitchen, after surprising Martha and Jonathan after coming home early from their date. They had to explain to the older couple what had happened, and Jonathan emptily swore he was ‘gonna teach that Ross boy not to mess with his little girl’, while being herded out of the kitchen.</p><p>“Sure,” Bruce replied.</p><p>“What’s the deal between you and Zatanna?”</p><p>Bruce huffed, amused. He knew this question would come up. It always came up. Either he wasn’t trustworthy enough to have a female friend or Zatanna was too pretty to be just a friend. It was as if everyone was of the opinion that a man and a woman couldn’t just be friends - well, Gotham’s elite was definitely of that opinion. In Bruce’s case, though, these statements were true. They weren’t just friends. They were best friends. They had grown up together; John Zatarra having been a very good friend of Martha Wayne. Zatanna was one of a few people Bruce liked, and one of even fewer which he trusted implicitly. To say they were friends was an understatement. Soulmates would probably be a more apt description - if everyone would just let Bruce and Zee use the phrase without the romantic hang-ups to go with it.</p><p>“She’s a friend. My best friend,” he said simplistically. Clarke looked a bit like she didn’t believe him as she poured freshly brewed coffee into two mugs. Bruce took hold of her hand, stroking her palm with his thumb, as he tried to convince her. “I’ve had two real relationships - 2 and a half if you count the few dates I went on with this other girl - and they never ended well. Zee’s one of the few healthy relationships I’ve had in my life. She’s always been there, always had my back. And I wouldn’t give that up for the world. I love her but I’m not in love with her, she’s family.”</p><p>“Okay,” Clarke smiled. She understood. She understood what it was like to have someone like that. She had that in Lana. Someone to trust and to know they loved you no matter what. Everyone needs someone to trust, and Clarke was glad Bruce had someone like that. She had so often thought that he was just another lonely traveller and she could only feel relief at seeing someone from Bruce’s life and understanding how much they meant to him.</p><p>Both satisfied with the exchange, they decided to take their coffee mugs into the living room. They sat on the second sofa, beside Martha and Jonathan’s, that was facing the TV. Bruce burrowed into the corner and angled his body slightly, placing the coffee mug on the arm of the couch. He held his arm on the backrest and Clarke slotted comfortably in the space he had created, placing her coffee on the table, her head on Bruce’s shoulder and her knees under herself slightly. Bruce felt like they had been doing this for a lifetime. And revelled in the fact that if felt completely right.</p><p>-	-	-  </p><p>Since their first, and ambushed date, Bruce and Clarke tried to be more discrete. Instead of going to the crowded bar they would spend hours talking in the barn loft (when Conner was away), listening to the record player croon. Instead of having lunch at the local diner, with the help of Martha, Bruce and Clarke would cobble together a small picnic and eat under The Great Oak while the sun burned in the sky at its highest point.</p><p>It was simple. Easy. Bruce wanted to live like this forever - spending mornings working on the farm, afternoons laughing along with Clarke as he tried to ride a horse and, evenings swaying along to Frank Sinatra with her in his arms. </p><p>‘The perfect life,’ Bruce thought.</p><p>One morning the two of them woke together in an embrace, limbs tangled and Clarke’s head pillowed on Bruce’s shoulder, hair draped across his strong chest. She traced his abs with her finger tips as she asked, “Don’t you have a life to get back to?”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“Then why are you still here?”</p><p>Bruce felt a sudden, irrational sense of panic rise up from his gut. He never wanted to consider this possibility. This had been the best few months of his life. Why would he ever want to give that up? His heart sped up, beating furiously against his chest, as he tried to school his features into something unaffected by his inner turmoil. He realised he had failed at this as Clarke rose her head to stare as him. Her face changed as realisation struck her. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just -“ she took a breath, “I love having you here. I really like you. But, surely there’s someone, something you need to go home to.”</p><p>“No,” he said simply.</p><p>“Not even Alfred?”</p><p>“He’s the one that told me to go.” He idly stroked her right arm as he spoke, calming both of them immensely. “I needed to get away. Clear my head, find some perspective. I found you.” She smiled shyly, ducking her head back into the crook between his shoulder and neck.</p><p>He continued, “You are the single best thing to happen to me in a very long time. I’m in no hurry to give this up.”</p><p>He kissed her sweetly. It was something they both needed. They lay holding each other tightly, contentedly, until Martha called them down to breakfast.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Something unexpected comes up</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how else to do it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bruce and Clarke were having a blissfully perfect time together, working and thinking in tandem. They would fall asleep in each others arms and wake up the same way. But, Bruce was acutely aware that things rarely ended well in his life, though Clarke never let him dwell on that. They came to know each other so intimately that she came to feel when he would tense with dark thoughts. She would caress his hand, sometimes the biceps she loved so much, in a soothing gesture, feeling him relax under her touch.</p><p>Over the several weeks the pair had spent together, Pete became less intrusive, but not more accepting. He would repeatedly inform Clarke what he thought of Bruce - not that he minded, he has been called worse. Summer began to draw to a close, but neither Bruce nor Clarke could think about leaving, both less inclined to return to their respective cities. They were happy where they were. And happy was all they wanted to be.</p><p>Bruce should have known that it wouldn’t last forever. He had found nothing good did.</p><p>It was a Tuesday afternoon in August, lunchtime. The Kent family and Bruce sat in the living room enjoying the rare peace. Rolling news played on the TV as background noise. He turned from helping Clarke with her crossword and glanced at the slightly fuzzy screen, too stunned to speak by what he saw.</p><p>“Bruce?” Clarke inquired softly, noticing his shifting posture as he sat up straight, like a ram-rod.</p><p>“Turn up the TV,” he ordered monotonously.</p><p>“ … we have been receiving reports that riots are continuing to break out across Gotham City.” A newsreader with a serious feminine voice declared. “The city has been experiencing civil unrest since early last month, which came to a head last night. GCPD has so far been unable to contain the fights that have erupted in The Narrows as fear continues to grip the nation’s crime capital. Property damage is reported to be entering the millions.”</p><p>Bruce stared in disbelief at the screen. He had only been away for 6 months. How could all of this have happened? More importantly, why weren’t those fat arses Bruce called board members doing anything about it. He had made sure relief funds were put in place, Wayne Enterprises had a moral obligation to that city and it was the only thing Bruce was able to enforce without the approval of the board. But he wasn’t there. He didn’t think this newsreel could get any worse. Turns out he was wrong.</p><p>“ … among the casualties of the Gotham riots is Alfred Pennyworth, butler at Wayne Manor, who was taken to hospital with injuries sustained guarding the estate during an attempted burglary. Bruce Wayne, heir to the Wayne fortune, has not been seen in Gotham high society in 6 months. His current whereabouts are unknown though there have been reports of a potential sighting of the billionaire in Missouri 3 months ago …”</p><p>The reporter’s voice faded into nothing as Bruce pelted up the stairs at the mention of Alfred’s name, grabbing his bag and hastily packing it. The Kents remained frozen in their seats at his actions. He ran back down the stairs, taking three at a time, dragging his phone from his jean pocket, dialling as he went.</p><p>“Bruce?” Clarke asked worriedly.</p><p>“Lucius, where’s the nearest jet? I assume Zee told you where I am.” A pause. “I need you to send it out.” He turned to Jonathan, “Where’s the closest airfield?”</p><p>“‘Bout 15 miles out east. Why?”</p><p>“Lucius, there’s one 15 miles away, near Wichita. Land it as soon as possible. I’m coming back.” He hung up.</p><p>“Bruce, what’s wrong?” Martha was concerned.</p><p>“Can I borrow the truck?”</p><p>“Sure. But, son, you need to tell us what’s wrong.“</p><p>“I need to go. Thank you, for everything. But, I have to go.” Jonathan tossed him the truck key, which he caught gracefully despite the urgency of the situation. He marched out the front door.</p><p>“Bruce! Wait!” Clarke near screamed. She grabbed his wrist in a fierce grip and spun him to meet her on the porch. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“I have to go.”</p><p>“Yes, you’ve said! Where are you going?”</p><p>Bruce couldn’t speak, his heart being torn between his father lying in a hospital bed hundreds of miles away and Clarke - who he was beginning to understand to be the love of his life. He couldn’t form the words he needed to say, wanted to say. So, he did the one thing he knew might convey what he couldn’t in words. He embraced her in a toe-curling kiss, full of the passion he never got the time to show and the love he never got to express.</p><p>He let her go and retreated to the red pick-up, turned the ignition and sped across the gravel out of the Kent farm. Clarke was left reeling on the porch while her family was left standing confused in the living room.</p><p>After a few minutes of staring at where the truck used to be, Clarke turned on her heel and headed back inside.</p><p>“Clarke?”</p><p>“He’s gone, Ma.” She said mutedly and disbelieving, “He left.”</p><p>-	-	-</p><p>Two hours after Bruce left, a knock came at the door. Clarke hoped that, maybe, he had come back. Bruce still needed to explain to her why he had left. She rushed to answer the door, opening it to reveal a spotty teenager with keys and a card in his hand. She stared at him until he spoke.</p><p>“This guy at the airfield asked me to bring that truck here with this note. He didn’t explain much, just gave me these.”</p><p>Clarke took the offered items and shut the door. She placed the keys in the bowl on the kitchen counter and flipped open the small piece of card addressed to her. Written in neat, and rigorously practiced, cursive handwriting was two words:</p><p>‘I’m sorry.’</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Now fun ensues in trying to get these two together after Bruce has done something very stupid.</p><p>For their relationship and how they feel about each other, I took some inspiration from my grandparents who got married 3 weeks after meeting. They’ve now been married for 50 years so I didn’t think Bruce feeling this after 3 months was much of a stretch.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In summary, Alfred takes no prisoners, the Kents find out who Bruce really is, Clarke learns something new about Lois and Bruce gets an amazing, bad-ass mic-drop moment.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I thought it would be fun for no one to really know anything about Alfred’s past (because different canons have him being so many different things) but make sure he is as awesome as ever.</p><p>Been having a bit of writers block with this and keep having other ideas for future works but hopefully I will come up with a good reunion for the couple.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nothing had been more clear before. It wasn’t like deciding to travel, or asking out a girl he liked, or even telling her that he might be in love with her after taking down his carefully constructed walls. This was a no-brainier. As soon as Bruce heard Alfred’s name on the TV he knew he was going back to Gotham.</p><p>When the jet landed, Bruce left his meagre luggage inside, bolted past the paparazzi waiting for him on the tarmac and sprinted through the airport. He lept into the limo he had asked Lucius to send and had it make a beeline for Gotham Central Hospital.</p><p>Bruce had had nightmares about this situation: Alfred, one of the strongest people he knew, lying defenceless and Bruce unable to help him. He charged through the white halls of the hospital, only stopping to ask where Alfred’s room was. But he couldn’t help the niggling unease creeping it’s way up his spine. He had always hated hospitals. They were too pristine, always hiding traumas Bruce new lied in its walls. He could never separate hospitals from the bad things; only being in them when he had broken bones or had gotten in to fights. It had never been the doctors - they reminded him of Alfred and his father, just the buildings made him uncomfortable.</p><p>When he reached Alfred’s room relief surged through him like a wave crashing onto a beach. Alfred was sat up in bed, countless pillows behind his back and half-moon, metal rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose as he’d read his favourite Delia Smith cookbook that was worn from multiple reads. Bruce froze in the door frame and Alfred moved his piercing silver eyes up to look at him without moving his head.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” He asked in a silky English voice, ever so slightly  disapproving.</p><p>“Hello to you, too.” Bruce moved into the room and sat in the chair facing the hospital bed. He lent his elbows on his knees and interlaced his fingers, “How are you feeling?”</p><p>Alfred had three butterfly stitches above his left eyebrow and bandages around his left hand. “I have been better. How are you feeling?”</p><p>“I’ve been better.”</p><p>“Not that I don’t appreciate the visit, Master Bruce, but what are you doing back in Gotham?”</p><p>“Visit?” Bruce muttered in disbelief. “I leave for six months and find out by watching the news that you’re in hospital after a botched robbery. Why do you think I’m back in Gotham?” He raged in quiet frustration.</p><p>“I had it handled.”</p><p>Bruce sighed in defeat, “Of course you did. Are you ever going to tell me what you really did in the army?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“No one’s going to believe you were a mechanic now. One of those burglars has to have reconstructive surgery.”</p><p>“I have heard you met someone on your travels.”</p><p>“Alfred, can we not do this now?” Bruce was tired and worried, Alfred may be in good spirits but he was still in hospital and still Bruce’s father. He slumped back in the chair, ignoring Alfred’s non-verbal warning to sit up straight.</p><p>“We can and we will.”</p><p>“Zee’s got a big mouth,” he muttered.</p><p>“That she does. So what is her name?”</p><p>“Clarke.” </p><p>Alfred was clearly unimpressed with the lack of details Bruce was going to give, so he arched his greying eyebrow expertly. Bruce sighed for what felt like the millionth time in the past 20 minutes.</p><p>“She’s from Kansas. I’ve spent the last 3 months working on her parents’ farm. That’s where I found out about ...”</p><p>“What is she like?”</p><p>Bruce could barely suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Wonderful,” but it very quickly turned into a frown, “She probably hates me now.”</p><p>“Now, why would she hate you?” At Bruce’s silence, “Oh, you didn’t?”</p><p>“I left and didn’t say a word.”</p><p>“Oh, my boy,” Alfred’s features softened when he saw Bruce’s face grow sullen. He reached out to clasp his surrogate son’s shoulder. “Right, let’s go.” Alfred sprang out of bed and began dressing in the clothes Zatanna had kindly dropped off.</p><p>Bruce abruptly looked up, “What are you doing?”</p><p>“Taking you to Kansas.”</p><p>“Alfred, get back in bed.”</p><p>Ignoring Bruce, Alfred strolled towards the door, “Come on.”</p><p>-</p><p>After Bruce and several nurses had convinced Alfred to get back into bed, they compromised. Bruce agreed that once Alfred was discharged, he would let him take him back to Kansas. He would never normally agree to this, but Bruce, as well as Alfred, knew that if he wasn’t forced he wouldn’t go. And he really needed to talk to Clarke, at the very least apologise properly.</p><p>-</p><p>Three days later Bruce was standing on the rickety wooden porch of a Kansan farm with his right hand raised, ready to rap at the outer door. Alfred stood a distance behind him, in his pressed suit and leaning against the black Aston Martin brought from Gotham. Bruce, himself, wore a sleek black two-piece suit and a white shirt with an open collar - there was no point in hiding anymore. The Kents probably had found out who he was by now: a lying, rich arsehole, who took handouts from a hard-working farming couple only to run off after 3 months, breaking their only daughter’s heart.</p><p>He breathed deeply through his nose and out through his mouth to calm his nerves and the trembling quiff of his hair. He knocked and waited.</p><p>Jonathan answered the door, his face falling imperceptibly when he saw who was on the other side. “Mr Wayne,” he greeted politely.</p><p>“Mr Kent,” Bruce paused, nervous, looking back over his shoulder at Alfred for confirmation. Alfred nodded. “Is Clarke home?”</p><p>Jonathan shook his head. Bruce understood and, frankly, he expected it. Why in the world should she wait for him to explain? He did something moronic and now awaited punishment (has Bruce mentioned he’s self-destructive). He turned away from Jonathan and started back towards his car.</p><p>“Jonathan, who’s that at the door?” Martha Kent’s sweet tone called from inside the house, coming closer with each syllable. She appeared in the doorway. “Bruce, is that you?” He turned when she called. He found with her, like his own mother and Alfred, he couldn’t ignore.</p><p>“Mrs Kent,” he greeted tightly.</p><p>“Don’t you ‘Mrs Kent’ me Bruce Wayne. Get your ass over here.” He moved, unable to disobey. She approached him as well, then enveloped him in a warm, loving hug. A Martha Kent hug.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Martha.”</p><p>She pulled back from the embrace and gently patted his cheeks, “I know, sweetheart. I’m sure you had your reasons, and I’d like to hear ‘em, if you don’t mind.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>She looked past him to Alfred, “Is that your Alfred?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Would he like to come in as well?”</p><p>-</p><p>The four of them sat around the familiar kitchen table, each with a steaming mug of coffee. To Alfred’s silent dismay the Kents didn’t have any kind of tea. It felt strange to be back in this house in an expensive Versace suit, instead of old jeans covered in tractor grease and mud. He felt out of place, and that was strange. He had never felt out of place with these people before. So, while Bruce wrapped his head around the strangeness of his current situation, the four adults sat in silence. Which Alfred broke, “This is lovely home you have, Mrs Kent.”</p><p>“Thank you. That’s very kind, Mr Pennyworth. Please call me Martha.” Bruce thought ‘good luck with that’, only because it would have been inappropriate to say it out loud.</p><p>“What’re you doin’ here, Bruce?” Jonathan was always no-nonsense. Usually Bruce was grateful, now it just made him anxious.</p><p>“I came to apologise.”</p><p>“Clarke isn’t here.” Jonathan’s monotone never wavered.</p><p>“But, you deserve an apology as well. Mr Kent it was never my intention to deceive.” All of the others gave him a look. “Okay. Let me start again.” Bruce readjusted how he sat.</p><p>“Bruce just tell us what you spent the last three months playin’ at.”</p><p>“Honestly? I was playing at being normal. I know you know next to nothing about me, and most of what you do know probably came from gossip rags, but anything I told you was absolutely true. Well, most of it. Alfred won’t tell me what actually did in the army.”</p><p>“That’s because you don’t need to know,” Alfred interjected quietly.</p><p>“Anyway,” Bruce thought carefully about his next words. “I’m a moron, and an asshole. I probably should have told you who I was but would you have treated me any differently had you known the truth?”</p><p>The Kents remained silent, so Bruce continued, “I’m lucky in so many parts of my life: I have money, a house, an education at some of the best schools in the world. But, there is one luxury I don’t have. No one looks at me like I’m more than my money or my past. Your family are among the few people that do. I didn’t want to ruin that. I’m selfish, plain and simple.”</p><p>“No, you’re not.” Martha reached out and cupped his hand that was resting on the table. “You’re a kind, generous young man who wanted the one thing in the world that his money couldn’t buy. That is very normal, Bruce.”</p><p>Then Jonathan spoke up, “That day you collapsed on our porch -“</p><p>“You what?” Alfred exclaimed.</p><p>“- I told you ‘you looked like you needed help, and we had plenty of help to give.’ That holds true, son. I’m glad we could help you.”</p><p>“Thank you, really. I should really be saying this to Clarke. Do know where she is?”</p><p>“Soon after that boy brought the truck back she packed her things and left. Said something about starting her new job early,” Martha informed.</p><p>Bruce rubbed his hands down his face in exasperation, maybe exhaustion, “This is all my fault.”</p><p>“Maybe she just needs a little time to come to terms with things, Master Bruce.”</p><p>“Maybe. How’s Conner?”</p><p>“He was a little upset when you left. I think he just missed someone to play soccer with,” Martha almost cooed. Alfred smiled fondly at the news that Bruce found somewhere he could have the thing Crime Alley denied him 12 years ago. Suddenly, the front door crashed open and a buzzing 12-year-old with excited eyes and bouncing hair raced in.</p><p>“Ma! Have you seen the car outside?” He froze. “Bruce!” He lept at the suit-clad man and wrapped him in as best a bear hug as someone so small could.</p><p>“Hey, kid.” Bruce could only smile. As could Alfred.</p><p>“Are you coming back?”</p><p>“Sorry, Kon. It’s just a visit,” Bruce apologised. He was genuinely sorry. Over the last few months, Bruce had grown so close to Conner that he now considered him to be his little brother. When he wasn’t working or picnicking with Clarke, Bruce was running around the field with the youngest Kent. He found, since meeting Conner, he was free to live the childhood he didn’t get to have. </p><p>Conner’s face fell slightly and Bruce was having none of it. “Do you like that car out there?”</p><p>“It’s like James Bond’s,” Kon nodded.</p><p>“Do you want to go for a ride in it?”</p><p>Kon turned to look at Bruce with a mix of amazement and confusion. So, to answer all of the boy’s questions, Bruce produced a set of car keys and dangled them in front of Conner. Bruce turned to Martha, silently asking for permission. She nodded and he rose from his seat and moved to the door, where he paused. Bruce’s 6’ 4” frame filled the open door as he turned to Conner and arched an eyebrow, reminiscent of Alfred’s, “You coming?”</p><p>Like a flash of lightning, Conner left the chair and appeared in the front passenger seat of Bruce’s Aston Martin. He chuckled and moved to join Conner.</p><p>When it was just Alfred, Martha and Jonathan left in the kitchen, the butler turned to the farmers and said, “I haven’t seen him that happy in a very long time.”</p><p>“He’s a good kid.”</p><p>“That he is.”</p><p>-</p><p>Zatanna wondered through Wayne Manor to find her best friend. She knew where he was, it was just a question of what state he’d be in. Bruce was where he always was when he was in a foul mood. He was in the library moping - it seemed he was at the brooding stage. He was nestled in a large armchair, draped in blankets that swallowed him, with earphones plugged in. Obviously, his trip to Kansas hadn’t gone as planned. Zatanna approached him from behind silently. On reaching him, she yanked out his earphones and stole his iPod.</p><p>“Hey!” He protested.</p><p>She appraised his iPod, “Sad heavy metal, I see we haven’t progressed onto aggressively happy show tunes yet. I can work with this.”</p><p>Bruce snatched the iPod back from her and proceeded to sulk like a child, pouting petulantly.</p><p>“I gather it didn’t go well in Kansas.”</p><p>“She wasn’t there,” he stated blankly.</p><p>“Have you tried calling her?”</p><p>“I don’t have her number.”</p><p>“Have you looked in the phone book?”</p><p>“Do those still exist?” He asked incredulously.</p><p>“I don’t know. Why don’t you have her phone number?”</p><p>“We were always on the farm. I didn’t need it, ‘til I fucked it up.” He muttered that last part.</p><p>Zatanna moved to perch on the arm of the chair, putting her arm around Bruce’s shoulders to comfort him. “Maybe Alfred’s right. Maybe she needs time.” Of course Alfred told Zee everything that happened.</p><p>“Alfred’s got a big mouth,” Bruce mumbled. Zatanna snorted.</p><p>“All this was a lot to drop on her like that.” Before Bruce could open his mouth, Zatanna continued, “I know you didn’t mean to, but still. Give her some time and space and it’ll all work out. For now, just do something - something other than brooding.”</p><p>“What am I supposed to do?”</p><p>“In case you’ve forgotten, you have a company to run. Run it. Show Clarke that you didn’t lie to her.” With that Zatanna got up and left Wayne a manor with long, confident strides.</p><p>-</p><p>“What the hell are you doing here?” Lois asked a pair of denim clad legs poking out from underneath a desk that jolted in surprise as an exclamation of pain emerged from it.</p><p>Clarke crawled out backwards and sat back on the heels of her red hi-tops. She rubbed the crown of her head with one hand while, clutching several cables with the other. She then smiled up at Lois and pushed the sleeves of her shirt back up her arms, “I was just fixing up my desk. The computer needed hooking up, so I thought I’d do that.”</p><p>Lois outstretched her hand and gestured for Clarke to take it and stand up, “I didn’t mean under your desk, I meant in this building. You’re not meant to start for another two weeks and the IT guys would have set up your computer then .”</p><p>“I just wanted to start early, is all.”</p><p>“Don’t lie to me, Smallville,” she said sternly, making sure to point her right index finger for extra intimidation.</p><p>“How do you always know?” Clarke repeatedly swore up and down that Lois had mind-reading powers; and it was endlessly annoying.</p><p>“It’s my job to know. Come on, let’s grab a bite to eat.”</p><p>-</p><p>The two young women sat opposite each other at a cast iron table, outside of a small coffee shop. The mid-day Metropolis traffic was a distant hum in Clarke’s ear as it had already quieted down from the morning rush. It acted as a soothing balm to ease Clarke’s tension. It also helped her forget the reason why Lois had dragged her out of the Daily Planet. She let the buzz wash over her as the waitress made her way over, notepad and pen in hand. Both ordered a tuna melt with a side of fries and Lois a latte, while Clarke opted for an orange juice. While they waited for their food, Lois analysed her friend’s face, which she was carefully keeping blank. Clarke was determined to be devoid of anything betraying information or emotion. Lois wasn’t going to get anything out of her - especially anything about a certain blue-eyed billionaire with an irritating, beautiful face, massive arms and broad shoulders that helped to frame his height perfectly. ‘No, Clarke stop thinking. Blank face remember.’</p><p>Their plates arrived and Clarke immediately began playing with the mound of slim-cut fries that rested against her sandwich, trying to stall the inevitable. She knew that if she didn’t speak first, Lois would.  But, there was no harm in trying.</p><p>“What happened, Smallville? You were so excited about going home?” Lois asked with genuine concern.</p><p>“Nothing. Really,” she lied, and hated that she had.</p><p>“Bullshit!” It seemed all of Lois’ concern had evaporated instantly. Some passers-by turned at the outburst, but upon seeing Lois Lane ranting they returned to their business - it was not an uncommon sight, she quite often had very public ‘disputes’ with Lex Luthor. “Something happened. You wouldn’t have come back to Metropolis so soon otherwise. Has Lex done something?”</p><p>“No. No, I haven’t seen Lex since you punched him.”</p><p>“So, what happened?” The concern returned and filled Lois’ violet-tinged eyes to the brim.</p><p>“I met someone,” Clarke said so quietly it edged into a whisper. </p><p>“Clarke, that’s great,” Lois smiled.</p><p>“No. It’s not. I met someone and he lied to me. And then he left.” Lois just looked at Clarke, choosing to see where the upcoming rant went before she cut in. “He showed up at the farm, spent three months being the most amazing person ever - being romantic, sweet, playing with Conner. Bruce then without a word or an apology got up, grabbed his bag and ran out the front door, leaving me standing on the porch looking like an idiot.”</p><p>“Bruce?”</p><p>“Shit,” Clarke murmured and the cogs in Lois’ brain started turning, putting together puzzle pieces inexplicably.</p><p>“Y’know, a certain Bruce dropped off the face of the Earth around the time you went home. Wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”</p><p>Clarke remained carefully mute, which only seemed to motivate Lois more.</p><p>“Clarke? Did Bruce Wayne stay on your farm for three months? And did you or did you not get into a relationship with him?”</p><p>Clarke looked away sheepish and uncomfortable under Lois’ investigating glare.</p><p>“Jesus, Smallville!” Lois exclaimed exasperatedly.</p><p>“I didn’t know he was was Bruce Wayne.”</p><p>“How could you not know? He’s one of the most famous people on the east coast. It’s your job to know.”</p><p>“He just wasn’t like what everyone said,” she admitted quietly. “He sweet, kind. He seemed like a real person, not a celebrity.”</p><p>Lois was quiet for a moment, sat still in thought, “Did he tell you how he got that scare on his right shoulder?”</p><p>“Yeah, he said he -“ Clarke halted abruptly, mulling over Lois’ words, “How do you know he’s got a scar on in right shoulder?”</p><p>“How do you know?” Lois questioned with a smirk playing at her crimson lips. “You saw him shirtless,” she joyfully sang.</p><p>“You. You -“ Clarke stuttered, frantically waving her hand at Lois! “You’re the half! You dated!” Then more quietly, looking ever-so-slightly scandalised, “You saw him naked.”</p><p>“I may have, but I’m not telling you anything,” Lois evaded, being her usual mix of teasing and cunning. But, at a moments notice her expression shifted. Lois was no longer in a playful and teasing mood. She became softer but more serious. She reeked of sincerity and wisdom at that moment. “Look, I don’t know how he got that scar. He told me some garbage about an accident while skiing, that I didn’t believe for a minute. I’m assuming he told you something else.” Clarke nodded the affirmative silently. Lois continued, “If you know how he got that scar, he definitely told you other things about his life. And if that’s the case, you know the real Bruce - the one he hides away from everyone else. Clarke he didn’t lie to you. He trusted you.”</p><p>-</p><p>The rich, mahogany-lined room simmered with idle chatter. Eleven ageing, balding and wrinkled old men sat in austere, creaking leather chairs that surrounded a large dark table that was fat at one end and pointed at the other like a pencil; only two seats near its head empty. They, themselves, were surrounded by deep green plants and low lit lamps that could only lightly glow yellow, instead of burn orange. The hum of low voices continued as the portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne looked over them, seemingly disapproving. </p><p>The large, wooden doors opened with a reverberating bang and the noise ceased. Bruce Wayne marched in with a furious scowl marring his handsome, young face, Lucius Fox proudly following. They took their places at the pencil point of the table. Bruce stood behind his chair, gripping its leather shoulders tightly, his fingers cracking the material with the force of his hold. Lucius stood behind his chair more calmly, getting himself ready for the show that was about to gloriously erupt in front of him. He couldn’t wait.</p><p>The room stewed in silence for a few tense moments until Bruce addressed the them in a vicious calm that didn’t betray the same fury as his iron grip on the chair, but perfectly voiced the anger ready to spill from his heart. “Why wasn’t the relief team deployed?”</p><p>The room full of board members remained silent. So Bruce asked another question, “Why wasn’t the relief fund utilised?”</p><p>Again, silence. “Answer me!” Bruce screamed, slamming his tightly coiled fist on to the table that creaked minutely at his power. He thought that was a more diplomatic move than punching one of them in them in the face.</p><p>“Sir, the board didn’t think it prudent to deploy such aid,” informed one board member.</p><p>“The city burns around you, buildings are destroyed, people run in fear and you didn’t think it ‘prudent’ to allow the aid that is issued without the need for board support to be carried out,” Bruce spat their words back at them.</p><p>“Sir, there are other organisations that deal with this sort thing - the Wayne Foundation, for example. It is not the Enterprise’s obligation to -“</p><p>“How dare you talk to me about obligation when you wilfully ignore yours and don’t allow me to do mine. The Foundation doesn’t have the capacity or the resources to help with a catastrophe like last week. That is precisely the reason the Wayne Relief Team was created. To use the Enterprise’s vast resources and staffing to help people where the Foundation couldn’t.”</p><p>“Mr Wayne -“</p><p>“My father would be disgusted with you,” he spoke in measured calm, which was more terrifying then the barely contained rage. Bruce had clearly mastered Alfred’s talent for scolding. “He and my mother built this company on the promise that it would help those in need. Everything we do is done with that mind. But, it seems that has been forgotten. I’m tired of being pushed aside, of not being listened to. And recent events have shown me that something needs to change. </p><p>You are all dismissed.”</p><p>Vain and self-interested protestations filled the air until Bruce raised his hand and reclaimed control of the room, “You are all to collect your things and don’t think about coming back.”</p><p>“But, Mr Wayne you can’t do that!”</p><p>“I think you’ll find that it’s my name above the door. You were all appointed by my father, but it seems we need a change of guard. Like you are under no obligation to do what’s right by this city, I have no obligation to continue your employment. Get out.”</p><p>Once the boardroom emptied and Bruce and Lucius were left alone, the older man spoke, his voice sounded like the most comforting chocolate tasted, “That was even better than I imagined.”</p><p>“I guess I’m in charge, now.”</p><p>“You were always in charge. They just needed a reminder of that.” He then made his way to the door to leave Bruce to his thoughts. As he reached the handle he turned to address him, “Your not the meek little boy they pitied, Bruce. You’ve got a smart head and a kind heart. You’re going to be a fantastic CEO.” And the portrait on the wall no longer seemed disapproving.</p><p>“Could you, please, ask R&amp;D, PR and the head of the Foundation to come up?”</p><p>“Sure thing, Boss.”</p><p>A small smile stretched across Bruce’s face at the endearment and it quickly turned into a blown grin reaching his eyes. He was going to do them proud. Mum. Dad. Alfred. Lucius. Zee. </p><p>Clarke.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For anyone who doesn’t know Delia Smith is an English celebrity chef who owns a football club and for that reason is Alfred’s favourite.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bruce needs a new plan.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, we’re coming to the end after this short chapter. Just need to figure out how. But Bruce and Clarke are going to get to come together in the next chapter. Promise.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“... so, I am pleased to finally open the Wayne Foundation’s Narrows Free Clinic.” Bruce scanned the sea of reporters, Wayne employees and curious pedestrians looking for the familiar tortoise-shell rims and wavy, raven tresses while the crowd applauded. At not being able to find her, Bruce tried not to show how disheartened he was as he trudged from the podium, off the stage with slightly slumped shoulders. The press began to swarm in front of the, renovated former-speakeasy to get a glimpse at the young Gotham philanthropist for the first time in several months. Feeling downtrodden, Bruce had no intention of humouring them, so slipped away and left his PR manager to take the flurry of questions that streamed towards her like bullets.</p><p>He slipped from the crowd and leaned back against the burnt red wall of the clinic taking deep breaths. He relaxed until he heard the short, sharp clips of heels on pavement. Bruce would have hoped it was Clarke but he knew that she never wore high heels. He remembered that she was already tall, with slender legs that were a million miles long - heels were superfluous, really. He smiled as he recalled that she never wore heels, not because she was tall (which was the reason she gave everyone) but because she was just too clumsy - ‘Bambi on Ice’ came to mind.</p><p>He raised his bowed head as the sound came closer and grew louder, clapping like the keys on a typewriter. “Miss Lane.”</p><p>“Come on, Bruce. You don’t have to sound so disappointed.”</p><p>“I’m not.” He said mutely.</p><p>“I know you were expecting someone 6 inches taller, 4 years younger and much more short sighted. That’s why this is the third press conference in as many weeks.”</p><p>“I didn’t know whether she’d tell you or not. She mentioned you two where friends.”</p><p>“Of course she told me. I’m her Metropolis guru,” she declared. “And before you say anything, I’ve been trying to get her country-bumpkin ass over to Gotham since she told me. But, Perry isn’t cooperating.”</p><p>“Well, the current strategy doesn’t seem to be working. I thought maybe, actually doing the things I wanted to do - the clinic, the school computers, the police funding - might show her ...” he couldn’t think of the words, but startled when he realised the implications of what he was saying. “Not that that was why I did anything. I was always going to do this. Eventually. Being around her just gave me a little push.”</p><p>“We might need a different approach.”</p><p>“We?”</p><p>“I want to see Clarke happy. She looks happy - as well as pissed off when she talks about you. And she hasn’t had a great history with guys - especially young billionaires who inherited their company.”</p><p>He looked at her puzzled, so she continued, “I’ll tell you when we’re out of earshot, but try not to punch Lex Luthor at your next gala. And then there’s that weird friend she has that won’t ever ask her out. He has quite the opinion of you, y’know.”</p><p>“Believe me, I do.”</p><p>“Apart from that, no one takes a second look. She taller than a lot of guys and stronger and smarter than most. She doesn’t drink and never goes out. It breaks my heart. But, whether she likes it or not, you have the same effect in her that I see she has had on you. She’s more confident, assertive. She looks happier. And, though she’ll deny it if you ever bring it up, she gets a glint in her eyes every time she sees you on the TV.”</p><p>“She is unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” he said delicately.</p><p>“There’s no one like her,” she stated.</p><p>“Help me,” he pleaded.</p><p>“That’s what I’m here for.” They walked to Bruce’s sleek black limousine side by side.</p><p>“I thought you had a job to do.”</p><p>“Please! Like you’d catch me reporting on something like this. It’s a fluff piece. Fluff pieces are boring,” she mockingly whined.</p><p>“Gee, thanks,” he chuckled as they slid into the back seat.</p><p>-</p><p>“You’re telling me that the great and mighty Lois Lane is willing to reduce herself to reporting on Gotham Galas?” Asked Perry, his voice dripping with disbelief.</p><p>“Yes,” Lois stated.</p><p>“You are going to voluntarily waste an evening talking to rich stiffs and their trophy wives?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Ok, what’s the catch?” Perry asked through several sheets of copy onto his walnut desk, placing his left hand on his hip while his thick, dark cigar hung from his lips, breathing smoke into the foggy office.</p><p>Lois leaned forward, placing her hands on the desk, careful not to knock over the three coffee cups stacked on top of each other or place her hand into any of the multiple drying coffee rings. She was shrouded in the cigar smoke and fought back a cough from inhalation. Perry was of the opinion that if he had a window open he could smoke all he wanted. It was his office after all. “I need a partner for this gala.”</p><p>“Lane,” he sighed. This was going to be one of those days. “It’s a Bruce Wayne gala. I do not have to send two reporters for it to be covered. It’s boring, it’s simple, it’s barely news.” He groused, his voice raspy and deep - no doubt due to the tobacco that lined his throat.</p><p>“Ok, not a partner. Maybe something like a student. Clarke, for example.” </p><p>“Lois - “</p><p>“Come on, Perry. She needs to have some practical experience in the field. She’s just graduated. You can’t keep sending her on coffee runs and getting her to type up reports on the new garbage collection schedule. She’s not an intern anymore. You’re paying her to be a journalist. Let me help her be one.”</p><p>“And you think a gala is the way to do that?” That disbelieving tone was back. Lois hated that tone almost as much as she hated Lex Luthor - and that was a lot.</p><p>“It’s a start.”</p><p>“Fine,” Perry conceded. He dragged himself around his large desk that was piled high with notepad and papers and headed towards the office door. He allowed it to swing open, the light from the bullpen momentarily blinding him. He let his sight return and bellowed into the open office space. “Kent! Get in here</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bruce and Lois’ plan comes to fruition.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank for all the comments and kudos left on these chapters, they’ve really kept me going. But, I’m going to leave it up to you guys to decided what Lex did, but it’s definitely shady and I’m in full support or Bruce stamping on Lex’s body parts - that will be put in context.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bright lights glistened and empty conversations swirled through the ballroom of the Gotham Ritz, while Clarke seethed in the corner under a professional veneer. She stood, hunched in the far corner away from the fluorescent chandeliers scribbling observations in her reporters notepad. It was already filled with enough quotes from blanked-faced socialites to fill her article. She made herself smaller, drawing her arms into her sides so she could finish her notes unnoticed. She dragged her teeth over her smooth bottom lip as she let herself hide deeper into her sapphire gown, borrowed from Lois. Her dark her was held high in a wavy ponytail and she tucked one falling curl behind her ear in a break in concentration as she glanced up from her notes to see Lois dance through the gaggle of socialites, fishing for filthier stories.</p><p>Lois waltzed from lecherous CEO to drunk idiot to surprisingly astute glamour model, becoming increasingly frustrated as no conversation yielded anything deserving of her time. Tonight was rapidly becoming a complete and utter waste of time, but at least this fake gala of Bruce’s got Clarke over the bay. Hopefully, tonight would work out as planned and Clarke wouldn’t be going back to Metropolis tonight. Otherwise, Lois spent the first part of her evening making Clarke look drop-dead gorgeous for nothing. Lois would be damned if she let that happen.</p><p>Bruce looked dashing as always. He wore a midnight blue three-piece suit over an open-necked pearl dress shirt. His tapered trousers met tan loafers than shone, like his signet ring, as the light bounced off of them. Bruce was never one for monkey-suits, and now he didn’t have to pander to board members who expected him to wear one. He mindlessly mingled with the elite classes he had spent six months avoiding - them asking what he was up to and him giving vague answers that danced around the truth. Bruce stood, clutching a flute of champagne, in the circle of socialites barely listening to mundane tales of who’s dating whom and tedious gossip spilling from the latest glam rags. But he paid no mind to it. All he could do was stare across the room, tracing his eyes over a silk sapphire gown, over long, peach-coloured legs cradled in black flats, up to radiant rose-tinted cheeks hidden behind square glasses, framed by 3 strands of curled hair. He hadn’t stopped looking since he had entered the gala and glanced over to the press pit and found Clarke there, head buried in her notebook and teeth scraping over her naked bottom lip in concentration. Bruce loved that expression. It was adorable. But, right now, Bruce was dangerously toeing the line between admiring and ogling and had to tear his gaze away before it became inappropriate.</p><p>Then, someone came up behind him, gently cupped his elbow and pulled him away from his group. “Showtime,” Lois smiled.</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>“Bruce, I’m certain. Go get her before she realises we arranged this gala.”</p><p>Bruce inhaled deeply and took long, determined strides across the ballroom, lest he lose his confidence. He discarded his half-empty champagne flute on a passing waiter’s tray and continued his march, only to halt in his tracks. His stomach stirred and flipped on itself as he watched Luthor talk down to Clarke. His heart clenched as he watched her bristle at his closeness as he placed his left hand on the wall and leaned in and over. Bruce straightened his back, pulled his shoulders tort and steeled his jaw. He resumed a more resolute pace.</p><p>He smiled a comforting smile, “Do you mind if I drag you away, Ms Kent?”</p><p>But, before Clarke could reply, Luthor cut in, “Brucie, how lovely to see you again. But I am currently having a little chat with Clarke, here. So, if you don’t mind.” He turned back towards Clarke, shark-grin firmly in place. Bruce’s heart broke as Clarke’s usually radiance and strength evaporated under the threatening smile.</p><p>So, Bruce ignored Lex and addressed Clarke again, “Ms Kent, it has been a while. I’d love to catch up.” He continued to smile reassuringly.</p><p>“Now, Brucie, I would expect you to have been raised better than this. You should know -“ Lex’s tenor voice flowed through the room deceptively like caramel. But, Bruce wasn’t fooled by his charm offensive. He had no patience for the Metropolis tycoon at the best of times, now it was non-existent.</p><p>He smile disappeared and became an increasingly threatening frown, “Lex, I should think Ms Kent can speak for herself. And if you speak for her again, I will stamp so hard on your -“</p><p>Clarke grabbed his hand cutting him off, “Bruce.” Her voice was quiet, almost pleading. It still broke Bruce’s heart. He squeezed her hand comfortingly, led her away from Lex, through french doors and out into the veranda. Once the cold air hit her, Clarke relaxed instantly. She walked from Bruce’s grasp and over to the railing, taking deep breaths as she walked.</p><p>“Clarke -“</p><p>She turned around to face him, “Thanks, Bruce. Really. But I don’t need protecting.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“I can fight my own battles.”</p><p>“Well, I’ve been waiting for an excuse to punch Lex.”</p><p>“I can handle, Lex.”</p><p>“Clarke, we need to talk.”</p><p>“I don’t have anything to say.”</p><p>“Will you listen?” She nodded and Bruce maintained the distance between them as his hands dangled aimlessly at his sides. “I’m sorry, Clarke. I never meant for this to happen. I should have told you who I was. But, I enjoyed being just Bruce too much. I enjoyed being with you. I now know you wouldn’t have treated me any differently had I told you but, I couldn’t risk it. I didn’t want to. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Clarke remained silent almost like she was contemplating his words.</p><p>“I’m really sorry, Clarke.”</p><p>“Apologies don’t fix everything, Bruce,” she sighed.</p><p>“No, they don’t. But I need to try. Those were the best three months of my life. I want to live like that again.”</p><p>“I do too,” she revealed quietly and Bruce beamed at the revelation. “But.” His grin fell.</p><p>“I know why you don’t trust me. Lois told me about Luthor.”</p><p>Clarke span around to face Bruce, eyes wide and full of fury, but her arms wrapped around her waist in vulnerable contrast, “She had no right!”</p><p>“No, she didn’t. But, she thought I should know.” His voiced remained soft, calm, measured</p><p>“She thought I should have told you?”</p><p>“Maybe. But, maybe you thought I might have seen you differently.”</p><p>“Maybe,” she mumbled.</p><p>“I don’t. Luthor’s a pig. He doesn’t deserve to be in the same room as you with what he did. Hell, I don’t deserve to be near you. You’re amazing, wonderful, fantastic.”</p><p>“Bruce, they all mean the same thing,” she teased as a smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth.</p><p>“And I need all three to describe how fantastic you are. Look, Lois didn’t tell me everything that happened with Lex. She told me enough, but if you want to you can tell me more. But, from where I’m standing, it made you stronger and I could never think any less of you because of it. I’m going to tell you something and I need you to hear me out, because this is the least emotionally constipated I’ve ever been-“</p><p>“Bruce -“ she interrupted, sighing.</p><p>“I love you,” he proudly declared. “I’ve probably been in love with you since the moment we met. And, I know we haven’t known each other long, but stranger things have happened.”</p><p>Clarke approached Bruce slowly, carefully. When she reached him she looked up into his midnight blue eyes that purposefully matched his suit. She smoothed a manicured hand over his dark lapel.</p><p>“I know you’re not like Lex.”</p><p>“But you couldn’t get rid of that niggling feeling.”</p><p>“Yeah. I hated it.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” he said softly as his farm-calloused hands caressed her bare-arms.</p><p>“It’s not. But, I suppose I owe an explanation. The truth.”</p><p>“You don’t.”</p><p>“Hey!” She jabbed her index finger into his chest playfully, “I listened to you ramble, so you get to listen to me.” Bruce smiled as he watched Clarke’s infectious spirit flood her body, lifting his up again. She looked up into his eyes, face painted in joyful earnestness, “I love you.” She then rose up on her toes, wrapped her arms around Bruce’s neck, and much like with their first kiss, embraced his lips with hers.</p><p>This kiss was unlike their first, though. It was desperate, lust-filled and leaking with pent up longing developed from weeks apart. Clarke hands tangled in Bruce’s hair as his bundled around her waist pulling her closer, tighter; like her was afraid to lose her, terrified she’d disappear if she moved away an inch. They parted, gasping for breath, foreheads touching and eyes meeting.</p><p>“Stay, this time?” Clarke asked breathily.</p><p>“Yes,” Bruce replied, equally breathless. “Do me a favour, though?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Keep the dress.”</p><p>“It Lois’.”</p><p>“I’m sure she won’t mind.”</p><p>“On one condition.”</p><p>“Anything.”</p><p>“Keep the suit.”</p><p>He tugged her closer, kissed her fiercely. While she was distracted, Bruce untangled his left hand from her waist and used it to lift her knees up in the air. He shifted her into a bridal carry as she yelped in surprise and headed through the french doors.</p><p>“Bruce!” Then more quietly, “People are staring.”</p><p>“Let them stare. I want Cueball over there to know that you’re my girlfriend.”</p><p>“Girlfriend?”</p><p>“If you’ll have me.”</p><p>She caressed his slightly stubbled cheek, with he thumb, “I think I will.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just posted a Christmas wonderbat fic if you guys are interested. It’s called “Christmas Traditions”</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10 - Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the days after the gala, Bruce and Clarke go back to Smallville</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is the final chapter. Hope everyone enjoyed this. I’ve loved reading all the comments and I can only hope I get better at this.</p><p>Thank you x</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bruce scrambled through the front door of Wayne Manor, Clarke tucked tightly against his body with her arms and legs wrapped around his torso as he caressed the underside of her legs. Her curled hair started to fall from its clasp high on her head as Bruce wound his other hand through it.</p><p>If it were any other day, Clarke would have been enamoured by the dark wood-clad walls, dimly lit by the imposing chandeliers of Wayne Manor’s foyer. She would have marvelled at the priceless vases and pieces of artwork that lined those same walls. She would have wondered at the spiralling staircase with Celtic patterns carved into its bannisters. She would have cried at the overwhelming sadness that screamed through its rooms. </p><p>But, today, she couldn’t do any of that. She could only grip harder against Bruce’s suit-wrapped shoulders and sigh heatedly into his mouth as her world shrank to the two of them. Their mouths. Their shallow and quickened breaths. Their rapidly beating hearts, hammering together like the hands of jazz drummer on a snare.</p><p>Everything else disappeared - that’s probably why she didn’t hear the squeak of leather loafers creasing against the hard wood floor or the scuffing of starched shirt cuffs against pressed cotton slacks.</p><p>“I take it you won’t be needing me for the rest of the night, then?”</p><p>Clarke quickly broke from Bruce, flushing fire truck red with embarrassment and becoming increasingly aware that she had her legs wrapped around his waist. In front of who she suspected might be Bruce’s surrogate father. Not really a position she wanted to find herself in, if she was honest.</p><p>Bruce managed to keep his composure, though, blissfully staring at Clarke’s wide aqua eyes, rosy cheeks and slightly parted lips. “No. Thank you, Alfred.”</p><p>“I’ll see you two in the morning then.” </p><p>And Clarke heard Alfred head up the stairs. Her face burned an even deeper crimson and Bruce chuckled fondly in his smooth baritone. Clarke buried her head in the crook of his neck, hiding her discomfort as he ascended the stairs. His rumbling laughter infecting Clarke as she giggled joyously into his shoulder.</p><p>-</p><p>Bruce and Clarke lay in the centre of the Super King bed, silk sheets draped over their shoulders. Mid-morning sun peeked through the edges of the black-out curtains and framed the couple in a halo of gold.</p><p>“So you’re telling me we were sleeping on a rickety, old double bed that rattled in the breeze when we could have slept on this cloud?” Clarke asked.</p><p>“That about sums it up.”</p><p>“You know I’ll never forgive you for that,” she teased, sending him a mock scowl as a smirk broke through.</p><p>“I’m so glad I collapsed on your porch.” He reached out and cupped her jaw. She reached up and grasped that hand in hers.</p><p>“I’m glad you collapsed on my porch too,” she said so earnestly it made Bruce snort sleepily.</p><p>He then groaned, “Alfred’s going to be so smug. His plan to get me to stop moping and get out the house worked.”</p><p>She then leaned over him, petite hands either side of his head, twining their legs together. “Was it a good thing?”</p><p>He blew her hair, that had landed next to his nose, out of his face, rose and whispered, “Definitely,” completing his promise with a kiss. “And you’re going to have to face him eventually.”</p><p>“Ugh, but our first meeting was so embarrassing!”</p><p>“Don’t worry. He’s seen worse.”</p><p>“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” With that Clarke squealed as Bruce flipped her on her back.</p><p>“Yes. Yes, I do.”</p><p>-</p><p>“Ma? Pa?” Clarke called as she pushed open the front and netted doors. She put her backpack on the kitchen table as she walked through the kitchen over to the stove, where a pot of chilli had been left to stew. She took the spoon that was resting on top of the pot and brought a mouthful of the spitting food to her lips, exclaiming harsh words when it burned her tongue. With the shock of pain she dropped the wooden spoon back into the pot, followed by more vulgar language. Fanning her mouth with one hand, she tried to fish the now red-stained spoon out with the other.</p><p>“Clarke, what the hell are you doing?”</p><p>She turned at her mother’s chastising tone and stammered sheepishly with a mouthful of scorching chilli, “Um, nothing.”</p><p>“You’re terrible at lying even without being caught red-handed. Stay away from my chilli. What’re doing here? Thought you had some swanky new job to be at.”</p><p>The chilli had gone and the burning had subsided, but the roof of Clarke still tingled with the embers of that fire. “Can’t I just visit?”</p><p>“Not without an explanation after leaving so suddenly you can’t. Everythin’ okay?”</p><p>“Clarke did you really need to bring your dirty laundry with you?” Bruce asked as he stumbled through the door, carting drooping bags on his shoulders like a donkey laden with saddle bags.</p><p>“So ...”</p><p>-</p><p>“No, Pa! You can’t use your hands. It’s called football for a reason,” Conner chastised exaggeratedly.</p><p>“I thought that’s what we’re playin’,” Jonathan said as he picked up the spherical white and black ball heading towards him.</p><p>“We’re playing soccer,” Conner pouted, crossing his arms to highlight his frustration at his father.</p><p>“Maybe I can play with you,” Clarke called from behind the young, mop-haired boy, “At least I know the rules.” Conner remained silent, so Jonathan spoke on his behalf.</p><p>“He ain’t talkin’ to you, I’m afraid. You’ve upset him.”</p><p>“What did I do?”</p><p>Her Pa walked past Conner, who still refused to turn around, and laid a hand on his daughter’s shoulder reassuringly, “In his little pre-teen brain, I think he blames you for Bruce not being around so much.”</p><p>“Now, that wasn’t-“</p><p>“We know. But, Conner’s just a kid,” he looked up to his wife, who had followed Clarke into the back yard, then saw past her to a looming, darkly dressed figure and smiled slightly, “Why don’t you go give him the good news?”</p><p>Clarke went around her brother and knelt in front him, arms limply crossed on her knee as one rested on the damp grass.</p><p>“Not gonna say ‘Hi’, huh?” Conner was stalwart in his silent pouty-ness. “Look, Kon, I’m sure Bruce told you he didn’t leave because of me. His dad was in hospital, so he had to go home. Though, we both could have reached out to each other faster.” It quickly became apparent that logical, rational explanation wasn’t going to get through to a 12-year-old. Though, she shouldn’t have been surprised. She was exactly the same at his age, as she had been told multiple time by her parents every time she moaned about her brother. ‘Her little clone’, they called him.</p><p>“I brought you back something from Metropolis,” she said gently. Now, that got his interest. God, kids could be fickle. “Want to go see what it is?” Conner nodded slightly. “Turn around, then.”</p><p>And Conner did. It was like a replay of a few weeks ago. Conner saw Bruce, who smiled fondly at him, all pearl white perfect teeth. The boy’s face lit up like a neon light that belonged in Piccadilly Circus. He flew at Bruce, who caught him and managed not to fall back onto the ground.</p><p>“Are you back for good now?” Conner mumbled into him.</p><p>“I’m not staying permanently. But, I going to being visiting a lot more.”</p><p>-</p><p>While Conner and Clarke spent the cool, autumn afternoon teaching Jonathan how to play football, Bruce sat on the porch bench with Martha cradling a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. He took a sip and set the mug next to him, turning his head slightly to watch grey strands of wispy hair catch on her nose in the breeze.</p><p>“Martha, how old were you when you got married?”</p><p>“Jon and I weren’t that much older than you. We were about 25, young and stupid.”</p><p>“How long were you together before?”</p><p>“A couple of years. Why, you got something on your mind, son?” She said with all the wisdom of someone her age and of a mother who was raising a son.</p><p>“My parents where 28 and were together for six months. This must run in my family.”</p><p>“Bruce?”</p><p>“I wanted to ask you, before I did anything. I know it’s not been long, and I still have lots of things to tell her about myself and her me. But this feels right. Somehow.” He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a dark, velvet box. “People have done this far sooner. Some have waited far too long - I don’t want to be one of them. I’m done letting others control my life, but I think I need someone to let me know this is okay.”</p><p>Martha clasped his forearm and lovingly held his gaze, nodding encouragingly.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>My next fic, which I will start writing in the new year, is going to be a spy au in which the Justice League is a bit like Kingsman and their superhero identities are their code names. Bruce is going to be English just because, but will still be his Smallville self. There secret identities will still be the same and with a bit more planning, hopefully, it will all come together.</p><p>I’m not 100% sure about the pairing for this. But I am drawn to Bruce/Lois to let my World’s Finest dreams come true. Hope all of you stick around for that.</p><p>xxx</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>